Monday, September 25, 2017

Right Where I Want to Be Chapter 23

I spend the next week going back and forth with Rose about ideas. She wants to name the place Cherry Bomb, and I want to name it Jack Off Jill. So far, we’ve scouted locations on our own, but Edward has been stupid-busy at work and I’ve put off sitting down and talking to him about my idea.

Finally, I offer to make dinner for us at his place so we can spend time face to face. Peter nods at me as I make my way to the elevators, and I wave before pulling my coat tighter around my dress. Once inside the penthouse, I make my way to the kitchen, setting down my purse and shrugging out of my coat before turning on some music. I set to work making the meal we agreed on and which Edward had shopped for; chicken parmigiana and a salad.

I’ve put the salad on the table that I set and I’m bending over to get the chicken out of the oven when I hear the front door close.

“Fuck, that’s a sight I could damn well get used to,” I hear from behind me.

Wiggling my ass, I pull the pan out and set it on the trivet before turning to Edward, catching the sexy smirk on his handsome face. He’s standing behind me in his business suit, looking edible as fuck. “Hello there, yourself.”

Not surprisingly, his hands are on me instantly, grabbing my ass and pulling me flush to his body. My long hair is down and a bit frizzy from the heat of the kitchen, my dress skin tight and showing ample boobage. It’s also short enough that his hands are on my bare ass as he cups me.

“Do we have to eat before we go to the bedroom?” he whines, and I chuckle.

“I really wanted to talk to you,” I reply, biting my lip in the way I know drives him crazy.

“Oh, God, I have to wait for this,” his fingers run between my asscheeks and rub my damp panties, “until we’ve had dinner?”

“Yes, sir,” I breathe. “I went to so much trouble to cook for you.” I pop out my bottom lip and give him puppy dog eyes, feeling the answering twitch of his cock against my belly.

He groans so loud that I laugh at him some more. “Come on, handsome, let’s eat and talk. And then you can have whatever you want for dessert.”

“Deal.”

I finish putting the food on the table while Edward takes off his jacket and tie and washes his hands. When he joins me, he serves me before serving himself. I smile at him, watching the way his strong, sure hands wrap around the serving utensils and perform a mundane task simply to make me happy. Knowing full well where the night will end, I also know it’s up to me to keep it from going there until we’ve had our conversation.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“You wanted to talk about something?” I watch as he takes a bite, dipping his head a little as he moans in pleasure.

“Yes. I thought that we should talk about ourselves, because we never really have.”

He sets his fork down slowly, looking up at me from his plate. “So, you’re going to tell me why you’re an exotic dancer, and in return I have to tell you of my family?”

I nod, uneasy at the tone in his voice and the savage look in his eyes. The atmosphere in the room has changed from fun and light to oppressive.

“No.” His baritone echoes through the room.

I drop my own fork with a clatter. “What do you mean, no? I’m willing to tell you whatever you want to know, and your response is no?”

Edward scrubs his hands over his face, and then he picks up his wine glass and has a long drink. He practically slams it down before moving to the dry bar in the corner and pouring a good three fingers of scotch. He meets my eyes over the rim before slugging it back. He pours another and comes back to the table, sitting back in his chair and propping one foot on his opposite knee.

“I don't want to tell you about my childhood. You're not my shrink,” he smirks cockily, and I want to slap the smug look off his face.

“Then we’re done here.”

I stand from the table, stalking angrily into the kitchen to find my things. I blink back the tears that threaten the corners of my eyes, because I hate crying. I feel his presence before he touches me, and then his hand is firm on my arm.

“Bella. Stay.” I hear the ragged breath as it drags in and out of his lungs. “Please.” His one-word plea sounds like it’s choking him.